


Bingo Squares I

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [43]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awkward Crush, Broken Bones, Cabins, Declarations Of Love, Gunshot Wounds, HYDRA Husbands, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Rutting, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Temporary Amnesia, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: A beginner edition of Bingo Squares as brain exercises.  Only doing three connected tropes; Soulmate/Soulbond, Coffeeshop, Bedsharing.  There are also bonus fics of Amnesia and De-aged.





	1. Soulmate/Soulbond

**Author's Note:**

> I made [StarSpangledBucky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/) make me a noob friendly HH bingo card with stuff I like writing/reading so I can waste more time not doing things I should. (In essence I only have to pick 3 in a row to work on instead of 5; minimum 500 words, which is weirdly hard if you have an idea lol)

It took him a snapped ankle and a shot up leg that left a smear of thick dark blood staining across the floor behind him when he dragged his sorry ass inside the room he was currently ducked away in. There’d be no mistake finding him laid out like a sitting duck, it was just a matter of time. Barely protected in one of the comm rooms by banks of screens showing the cameras nestled around inside and outside the building, flickering in and out while beside him lay two corpses on the floor sporting holes in their heads.

It took him the painful throb at his shoulder blade of something deeper than his actual wounds to make him realize whoever his soulmate was, they were eerily nearby. The urgency growing within them not from him but projected _to_ him as his heart rate rose with theirs and he sensed frantic frustration sinking deep into his very being.

Brock came back to the present, kept his breathing steady as he began to again take into account the rest of his body; punctured lung from broken ribs, blood running down the side of his head from a possible deep laceration- 

His eyes drooped a little and he snapped them open again.

 _Stay awake._

He’s done it before. Could do it again. Though it never got like this, this was bad. He could actually admit that now though in hindsight he’s actually a little ticked off. His soulbonded _mate_ is alive, not dead from what he knows now and their connection was only triggered by the stress of the situation which is bullshit. He can tell whoever it is knows the situation enough and is trying to find him through their fledgling bond but it’s a race against time and he’s losing a lot of blood way too fast. 

If all else fails he’s gonna take every motherfucker he can out with him, trembling fingers snug around his handgun, one close to the trigger and pointed towards the door, the other palming along something sitting inconspicuously in his side pocket. 

All it took was a mission gone wrong, intel not accurate and him near death to get mother nature to tell him he had one, what a fucking joke. 

His eyes slip closed a moment, only snapping open again when there’s screams feeding in from the speakers. He can’t tell which camera it’s from but they’re so wretched and end garbled, an almost mangled wet sound of a painful death from connecting halls that he’s not sure he _wants_ to really know. It carries on, struggles and cries but they all end the same, sometimes a few shots but usually savage and personal and he knows whoever it is, they’re so fucking close.

There’s a sound of a kick to a metal door colliding into the wall from the force down in the corridor adjoining to this room and hard assured boots make their way through like a constant beat playing in his ear.

Jack was the one who found him, his tac suit gleaming with a coat of cascaded blood that was still dripping onto his boots, arterial spray across his face and eyes so _green_ that Brock saw far beyond the pines with them, assault rifle at his side and a combat knife held closer to his chest.

It could have been a coincidence but then he saw it when Rollins went from red to nothing, the ease of panic smoothing out of him in one mere second of eye contact and Brock could only lower his gun, relief across his face that easily wrapped itself with Jack’s before schooling himself to smirk at him.

“Took you fuckin’ long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack didn't trigger it because he's a cool ass mofo. Leave me alone lol


	2. Coffeeshop

Brock wrote down another name on a cup, squinting at it for a moment before passing it along to Clint and moving onto the next customer. He was really trying his best with the lunch crowd, he needed the job and Fury was already on his back about his attitude but he hated the rush times and it seemed like he was only scheduled when those were prominent and on days when they were the highest count of people. His growing need for homicide only got worse when he was running into asshole after asshole, ordering off the menu drinks that they had to take with stupid fucking smiles that he loathed.

He rattled off the textbook greeting to the next person in line trying his best not to look like he wanted to hang himself.

“I really don’t see the issue with switching the Wednesday appointment over to Thursday if they’re really crushed for time. Yes, I’m _aware_ it would overlap into the lunch meeting but it’s merely a conference call for updates. The meeting is with Bucky leading off anyway so it’s fine, as long as one of us are there for the presentation.”

Brock stood there with his best impression of not giving a shit despite wanting to tell Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome in a nicely tailored charcoal suit to get off his phone and order. The man only paused long enough to shoot him a look, then a double take before tilting his head back to his phone, “Venti coffee, black. Jack.” 

He went on yapping to whoever was on the call about sales charts and his hand dug out a credit card for Brock to take. 

Brock took a cup for his order, writing “Blackjack” on the side, musing about it to himself before taking the card a little aggressively not that the man- not that Jack noticed, ringing up his order and presenting him a receipt to sign. Still talking away on the phone, Jack sighed the paper with a tip worth more than his drink and Brock may have felt a tiny bit bad for being an asshole though when all the guy did was take his card back and walk away without another glance Brock could only shrug to himself that maybe it wasn’t such a jerk thing of him to do after all.

The next day his shift brought Jack back and barely any orders of shit that wasn’t on the menu but still offered. This time he was in a dark blue suit yet still on his phone thumbing through something and squinting at it. He presented his card again and didn’t even look his way this time, “Venti coffee, black. Jack.”

With a roll of his eyes, Brock wrote down “Jak” on the cup and slid it along to Clint who gave it a raise of brows before walking away with it. He had to nudge the card and receipt to even get Jack to look at that and even though the tip was the same as last time Brock had no regrets on putting the name wrong again.

This became a thing they did for over a month. Brock chose weirder and weirder ways to write down Jack’s name, some complete with accents and dashes and Jack never noticed, either on the phone or randomly on a tablet. Everyone that worked there had caught on and always called out Jack’s name without it sounding weird and it was just something that happened and life went on. It was still odd to Brock though that Jack only ordered black coffees and could easily get them from any place. Clint’s mentioned seeing him walking down a block with their cup in hand and passing at least three other places that could make him a decent cup without the fancy syrups or whips they offer. It’s a little curious and it’s what keeps Brock messing with him even if Jack doesn’t notice.

On one particular day, Jack shows up wearing a really nice black suit with a pretty brunette looking a little frazzled as she walks alongside him in a wine colored blouse and pencil skirt, moving things around across a screen of a tablet and shaking her head at him dismissively. 

“I can’t believe you, Jack. You can’t just rearrange the schedule for today without telling me!”

A small peek of a smile crept at the corner of Jack’s mouth as he glanced over at the tablet, “I thought I was your boss and you had to call me Mr. Rollins.” 

She glared as she swiped across the screen again, “Not in your life after this stunt, it’s like I’m taking care of a child sometimes.”

He shrugged helplessly, “It was just one thing, the Thompson account needed to be pulled out for a look over, I figured I could do that today instead of the reports for Chicago since it wasn’t important.”

They paused when reaching the counter and the girl was looking his way, eyeing him up, “Random question, do you always work cash?” 

Leveling her with a look, Brock nodded, “Usually, yeah.”

Suddenly she was giggling, her hand smacking Jack’s chest while he was on his phone, her voice suddenly low as she murmured something close by his ear in something definitely not English.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack muttered as he withdrew his card and held it out, glaring at his phone screen, “Venti coffee, black. Jack and a venti cinnamon dolce latte, Wanda.”

Brock stared at the two of them as he rang up the order, Wanda only eyed Jack with a small smile and Jack tried his best to ignore her, neither of them looking his way. Their abrupt silence was unnerving to say the least especially after it seemed like they were ready to have some kind of sibling throw down just a few seconds earlier. He tried to ignore it as they walked off to wait at the other end of the counter after the receipt was signed away again and as per usual, Jack left another generous tip.

Because it was a habit now and Brock always woke up with another way to spell Jack, he handed Wanda’s cup over to Clint to make while he added “Jaeque” to a second one. It wasn’t a new idea, he just wanted to keep the q for a moment that hit him and it was definitely today. 

Drinks done and with no line ups, Brock took them over himself placing both beside each other before going back to the till only to pause when Wanda broke out in laughter, a perfectly painted nail pointed to Jack’s cup causing him to make a face at her before he glanced to his coffee, letting out a small snort in half surprise and half amusement before he looked up directly towards Brock. “A q? I didn’t know some Jack’s had it spelled that way.”

Brock snorts with a smirk, “There ain’t, well none that have told me to spell it that way. Mean there may, I’ve jus been tryin’ to see how to get your attention.”

Jack pauses for a moment mulling over the comment, “So you’ve been- ”

Wanda smacks his chest, “Have you not said anything about your cups before? Or have you been so bus- ” 

They both wait for her to finish and she pauses, eyes widening a fraction with a deep inhale before breaking out in a helpless laugh that Jack seems to shrink at, “You stupid man! Have you been avoiding him?!”

“Who me?” Brock can’t help but blurt out because _why_? 

Wanda’s covering her mouth in a flimsy attempt at holding back her laughter while nodding in confirmation before Jack can stop her, muttering something quietly that’s in that language again and she only laughs louder. The shop is slightly empty but everyone at their tables turn her way to try and figure out what’s going on in curiosity and Brock can’t help grinning a little if only because Jack looks like a scolded child.

Eventually when she quieted down, she and Jack have some kind of mental conversation as her lips press together, eyes lit up in amusement and Jack looks like he doesn’t want to face the firing squad.

“Tell him or I will.”

Now Brock’s intrigued, folding his arms over his chest and waving at Clint for his break because he ain’t missing a moment of this for a customer. “Tell me what?”

When Jack clams up Wanda rolls her eyes and smacks his arm again. He’s beginning to really like her. She goes to spill the story and his shoe kicks her ankle before she punches his arm in retaliation. She slaps his chest one last time before taking her latte out of there and giving him a stern look, “Tell him or I will tomorrow morning now that I know where he is!”

Jack rubs the back of his neck and honestly, Brock’s never seen him so awkward before. It’s a 180 from asshole that doesn’t care about shit around him and is too busy being a boss..or something and he feels confident he’s at an advantage because of it.

“So, ya gonna tell me what she was talkin’ ‘bout or what?”

Turning back, Jack’s expression is clearly showing signs that he’s mulling over the pros and cons of it and finally shrugs his shoulders, “She knows when I’m interested in someone, or at least kind of crushing on someone.”

“Who?” 

Clint bursts out laughing behind him and Brock startles, turning around and throwing the balled up hand towel nearby because what the fuck? When he turns back around Jack looks _guiltier_ and things suddenly fall into place.

“Wait me? All ya been doin’ is acting like a dick and can’t even look at me- ”

Jack’s sheepish expression only darkens and Brock can’t believe his eyes, “Are ya fuckin’ serious?”

“I actually read every weird rendition of Jack you offer me, I figured if I said anything you’d stop.”

Brock doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, he sighs at him instead, “She’s right, yer stupid.”

“Maybe. Do you work tomorrow?”

Brock nods, retrieving his sharpie from his apron pocket, “When’re you off?”

Jack takes a curious step closer, not in Brock’s space but near enough to it, savoring a long drawn sip of his black coffee before he answers, “Five.”

“You should pick me up.” Brock drawls as he rests a hand under Jack’s cup to keep it steady and scrawls his name and number down. “Take me somewhere worthy of my forgiveness.”

Jack’s brows slowly rise up, “Oh yeah?”

Capping the felt pen, Brock nods with a wry smile, “Mhm. All this damn time we coulda been havin’ fun together and you had to go be terrible at throwin’ out signals. I’m givin’ ya a chance to make up fer it.”

He steps in closer to keep the next part in between them and away from eavesdropping co-workers, “An’ if yer real lucky I’ll show ya other ways I’m good with whipped cream.”


	3. Bedsharing

They flipped a coin for the one bed and Brock had lost, didn’t mean he had to be agreeable. 

“So- ”

“No.”

“It’s only one night. Why not jus share the damn thing?”

Jack’s face immediately twisted into something usually reserved for when he didn’t want to be argued with, “Why would I share the bed with you? Sleep on the floor for all I care.”

Brock was definitely used to Jack being an asshole, especially when they took that wrong turn and only got lucky finding this place while the snow started coming down harder. He knows, he’ll admit to it but he wasn’t going to fucking sleep on the cold and dirty floor no matter what side the damn quarter landed on, that was decided. He just had to figure out how to get in that bed without Rollins’ stabbing him in his sleep. “It’s stupid not to share the bed, I know we flipped for it but we can use our sleepin’ bags side by side, it’s big enough to fit us both in there!”

A long tense moment of silence passed before Jack’s shoulders dropped slightly and looked away, his lack of argument a good sign he was much too tired to be bothered.

The both of them took their bedding and rolled it out, Jack climbing in first and taking the space as close to the wall as possible, zipping himself in and shutting Brock out. He got himself in right after with the mind set that the faster they got to sleep, the faster they could get outta here in the morning and find a way back to civilization.

When he was absolutely settled, all he could hear around the tiny cabin was the wind howling by the window, threadbare curtains barely covering anything and he could still see the snow falling fast. Despite their sleeping bags being made for cold climate Brock was still struggling to get completely warm. Beside him, Jack lay completely still, burrowed deep in his own bag and all Brock could do was stare at the back of his stupid head.

Attempts at getting himself warmed up enough to sleep just weren’t working and his brain had focused on Jack being a furnace instead, eyeing the sliver of skin uncovered just at the nape of his neck and taking it as a window of opportunity. 

He inched forward, just close enough to ghost himself behind his Second and Jack only laid there unmoving and not making a sound despite Brock being so close that he knew he’d probably feel his breath against his shirt. He waited a few more seconds, the cold still encroaching and he moved in a little more, hesitating with the idea before he finally bucked up and pressed his forehead to Jack’s shoulder. He could easily make the excuse he was cold, which he was and instantly rewarded with a drawing of warmth against his face.

Jack hadn’t reacted yet and maybe he was just out cold. He’d been driving for eight hours before Brock switched with him but he still wasn’t sleeping when they got back on the road, complaining he couldn’t get comfortable. He weighed the pros and cons of getting his ass kicked out of bed for going in for an awkward half hug when Jack let out a long subdued sigh.

Shit.

Holding that thought, Brock held his breath, unsure of if Jack was doing that in his sleep or actually awake. 

“Brock.”

“It’s fuckin’ cold.” 

Jack made an irritated noise, rolling over to face him and looking more unimpressed than he was when they found this place. He said nothing, instead eyes traveled down the sleeping bag before him and after a long tense silence, he began to undo his own sleeping bag wordlessly. When it was completely zipped down, he reached for his and did the same thing. 

It was the moment that snapped Brock out of his frozen wonderment of if they would fight to see who got to stay on the shitty bed, his hand grasping at the bag when Jack went to uncover him, the man partially upright and perilously hovering over him with a hand propping his body up. “The hell ya doin’?”

Of course Rollins didn’t answer because he did that and Brock only watched helplessly as he joined the zippers of their sleeping bags connecting them together and Brock was annoyed he didn’t think of that right off the bat. He watched him close them inside and wind the zipper all the way up and to Brock’s relief the cold air began to dissipate almost immediately, his head tucking under the end of the sleeping bag and curling up into himself ready to go to sleep again as Jack did the same thing.

He laid there for a small while with his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to force his mind to rest, their shared body heat sinking slowly into his bones and making it all bearable, it was good but the nagging sensation at the back of his head would just not quit.

He wanted more even if it didn’t make sense to him and it wouldn’t quiet down, finally giving up and moving in closer to Jack. Without the padding between them he knew he was probably going to get a punch in the face for it but he was out for himself at the moment and if they got into a fight so be it.

Jack’s eyes remained closed, though his brows crinkled together slightly. Brock held his breath completely, his eyes running over Jack’s face, examining each fine detail just out of something to do. The stoic expression he wore now seemed to be Jack’s default face; he’s seen it when they worked out on the field, when he was in the office or even on the occasion when they would all go out for drinks. Hell, he’s seen him sleep with that same expression when they’ve all had to bunker down together in the same space. 

His eyes dropped down to his lips and lingered there before he tore away, curling in tighter to himself. He was still trying to crush down that pull though, natural and almost like an extra sense but here it was definitely not warranted. He made one last adjustment into personal space like it wasn’t even him doing it, his forehead weakly resting against Jack’s shoulder, hand twitching against his own chest to move out and touch but he refrained. His ears warmed in embarrassment instead, waiting for Jack to react.

The longest moment of his life passed when Jack finally moved, large hand ghosting over Brock’s side, barely skimming his clothes as he trailed his way up. He hovered for a moment over hair, eventually combing fingers gently through a few errant strands. Brock stared intently at the material of Jack’s shirt, mind processing the meaning behind the gentle touch. He drew in a shaky breath, holding it in when that same hand wandered down to cup his cheek, responsively Brock gripped at the fabric of Jack’s shirt, certain he was dreaming all of this.

He was so certain it was a dream that when Jack tilted his head upward, Brock easily let him, meeting his gaze with a comfortable ease that maybe he wasn’t so ready for. That stare held him hostage, panic setting in when he realized he wasn’t asleep but felt lulled by the warmth radiating off the body next to his. His lips parted slightly to the casual touch of Jack’s thumb tracing along his bottom lip. 

Impulse kicked in and took over, surging forward to press his lips to Jack’s, hand resting against the chest before him. Jack didn’t even hesitate to the gesture, adding his own pure honesty into it, taking Brock’s face in his own and tilting it to deepen the kiss.

They broke apart all too quickly, breathless and panting into the night, mouth of the sleeping bag pushed out of their way and barely there clouds of breath dissipated into the frigid air. 

“Jack.”

It was all Brock could muster, all he had as he stared back into Jack’s dark gaze, wide and unbelieving. His entire body heated up, blood rushing loudly in his ears alongside his rapidly beating heart despite being the one who instigated it. 

Jack only stared harder at him, eyes narrowing partially as if he was trying to sort through too many thoughts before he made an abrupt decision and took him by his shoulders, Brock rolled onto his back and pressed down against the lumpy springy mattress with Jack following after, pinning him in place.

Brock opened his mouth to say something, fingers still gripping at Jack’s shirt and he was only silenced when that mouth pressed down against his again, stealing every bit of his breath away, an arm tucking under his shoulder and cuffing the back of his neck, pulling him painfully closer for it. He wasn’t thinking anymore when he hooked his leg around one of Jack’s thighs eagerly wanting more touch, more sensation. He wanted all of it, whatever Jack was giving and moaned into his mouth, Jack’s tongue sliding over his as Brock’s hands moved to Rollins’ back. His fingers dragged across the shirt, Jack arching to the contact and pushing the top of the sleeping bag further away, the heat becoming too overbearing.

Brock reached along the wall of the bag finally finding the zipper and pulling it down, mouth preoccupied but groaning in relief and in a bit of a surprise to the surge of more cool air cutting into their body heat, forgetting easily when he felt Jack’s knee press up in between his legs.

His head was spinning, thoughts breaking apart and evaporating away as he was touched. Jack’s fingers exploring along his neck and up his shirt, lips always sliding against his with teeth and tongue all the while Brock only pressed against that knee with embarrassing neediness not able to hide how desperate he really was for it.

Jack tried to mumble something that started with his name but Brock wouldn’t let him go on, not ready for anything that might stop them from continuing. He captured the words halfway with more kisses before he was dragging his teeth against Jack’s bottom lip and giving it a little tug, hips continuously chasing every bit of the friction he could have. 

Jack only gave in, groaning deep and low, a sound Brock had heard numerous times but in a different situation altogether. Now though, his breath was hot against his mouth while hands traveled, touching and grabbing every part of Brock’s body like he couldn’t believe his sudden luck. They were both filled with a frantic energy, chasing each others wants and needs, edging near release too quickly but had no plans to stop or ease the flow. Jack’s hand roughly gripped at Brock’s thigh and took a hold, fingers digging harshly through the material of his pants as he pushed back, rutting against him, the sudden increase of friction between their cocks forcing a choked sound out of Brock.

“ _Jack..gettin’ close-_ ” Words fell off his tongue as he arched for more, panting against wet, bruised lips.

Those same lips managed to slip away from him, Jack’s mouth mapping a trail of sharp tiny spikes of pain before they were eased by drags of his tongue across bruised flesh, their bodies grinding in a tandem of controlled turmoil. It was when he bit down at the junction of neck and shoulder, intense and so abrupt in comparison to the lesser ones that Brock could barely contain his moan before he came. 

He was still flying in his thick foggy haze when Jack finished moments after him, frozen still for a few delayed seconds as he gathered his breath and tried his best to hold up his weight, eyes set on Brock through heavy sucks of air. Slowly released his hold on Brock’s thigh, fingers embedded so firmly they were both very aware of how it would mark, eyes conveying a small sign of apology before dropping himself beside him and letting his gaze shift up towards the ceiling.

As they both came down, Brock’s hand lazily smacked at Jack’s thigh, “I still ain’t sayin’ sorry for taking that wrong turn.”

His eyes trailed over when he heard the sound of zipper, Jack pushing himself to sit up so he could clean himself off and despite just going, Brock was suddenly interested in how fast his recovery time was. He glanced back up just to see Jack eyeing him with a shake of his head. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, besides I think this little adventure gives us a chance to figure some things out.” 

He’s naked and Brock can’t stop staring, he’s seen him naked in the showers more than once, maybe sneaking a glance or two or too many but this time he can really look without pretending he wasn’t and he would have continued if Jack didn’t make a sound of annoyance and was leaning in to undress him.

Grinning because he still felt a little dopey, Brock only reclined, lifting his hips when he was directed to.

“Fucking lazy ass.” 

“I’ll make it up to you sweetheart.” Brock drawled out as he tugged his shirt off, using it to wipe himself up. 

“You’d better.” Jack muttered, shuffling to get the sleeping bag zipped together again and pulling it over them.

Jack rolled him onto his side, facing away and Brock tried moving back only to receive a sharp smack to his ass for it. He almost went to hit him but thought better of it when he felt Jack’s entire body pressed to his back, hot and perfect, mindlessly leaning into it as arms curled around and Jack was breathing into his hair. 

The sleeping bag was tucked in more before they were finally settled for sleep and Brock roamed his hand along Jack’s arm, “What if we get snowed in for a few days?”

“Mm,” Jack mumbled, snuggling in tighter all of a sudden like a smitten cat, face burrowing into hair, “Sure we can keep busy somehow. Know some ways to keep warm.” 

“Some ways huh?” He yawns, sleep coming in fast.

It’s quiet again and Brock’s sure Jack’s checked out until eventually fingers draw across his bare chest in a hazy motion like he’s testing if he’s actually really there.

“I’m glad you got us lost.”

Brock stares at the weird shapes the shadows make in the darkness, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he nods lightly, “Yeah, me too.”


	4. Amnesia

Once the sun sets Brock finds it doesn’t take very long for the cold to rush in and take over. He feels like he had plans for something, did things to prepare for these events but now he just can’t come to the ideas of what. 

It doesn’t much matter now, turning his head to movement coming in from another room and he already knows it’s Jack sitting himself down at the other end of the couch in the darkness holding a mug of coffee or a beer or maybe something stronger. 

It’s a companionable thing they do that he finds he likes even if it’s only been a week. This part Brock knows so easily, a warm familiar sensation and he’ll always find himself gravitating towards Jack who has a tremendous amount of body heat for someone like him. He can’t exactly put his finger on _why_ he thinks that way but he feels it’s a suitable thought and also finds that Jack doesn’t mind one bit when he wants to come close and steal some of it.

Besides letting his eyes settle and rest from the sharp natural light there’s another reason he enjoys the sun’s departure, the darkness brings Jack’s hand drifting cautiously under the edge of his shirt and across the expanse of his chest, fingers tracing each nipple and it’s familiar and everything he wants at the moment. Warm and gentle leaving a feeling of contentment settle down and deep all the way to his bones.

He hasn’t gotten a handle on it in the daylight and Jack respects that, but here in the shroud it quiets the buzzing in his brain, hazy and jumbled memories that never completely form something tangible and only leave him frustrated. It’s only good when Jack is near him like this, touching him how he is and it’s near impossible to break himself out of it, mind clear on just the expectation of familiar hands and the breath against the side of his throat. 

He’s not sure how familiar Jack is to him, how far they’ve ever gotten before and he won’t tell him, wants Brock to remember himself and take his time but every second he’s touched brings another terrible and awful urgency to know, to _remember_ how they were before it all turned to complete shit. He wants to reach out for more, to ask Jack to keep going, to do other intimate things but he never quite does, unsure of how much he can ask for and reminded again he doesn’t know the extent of their relationship. He wants to but upsetting Jack, pushing him when he extended such patience keeps a lot of that to himself despite making him feel tangled and tied up.

He knows, at the back of his mind, senses it in a way that he believes fully in it, that Jack would not act the way he’s assuming and only wants him to naturally come back to him. It still lingers and stays, digs itself in the moment they laid eyes on each other and he was in the hospital. He didn’t know his name then and he’ll never forget the barely there shift in his expression, his eyes giving his hurt away and hiding it seconds later before anyone else with them caught on. Brock did though, he felt it even, his hand falling against the back of the hand that rested at the raised bed rail compelled to comfort him despite it feeling not exactly the way he would go about it. It seemed to surprise Jack just as much but their hands stayed that way and after that he decided it would be alright to just go home with him instead of taking up the offer of Jack rooming in some dingy motel once he was released.

It was the best decision Brock had, the first contact after was an accident that he wanted more of and firmly kept Jack’s hand in place. He was desperate for his touch and caress, even if his mind wasn’t on his side. All he knew was that Jack wasn’t allowed to stop and Brock wasn’t allowed to do anything to present that option. 

He doesn’t know how to tell Jack that even if he gets confused more often than not on most days, that he doesn’t know how to ask for more of this without sounding childish or needy.

Jack’s been patient with him, a trait he finds he’s lacking especially when he’s having issues with trying to place thoughts and turn them into words and he feels more and more like he’s holding him back. Despite the fact that he’s so tolerant and reassuring, Brock begins to hate the idea of asking for more, spreading this man that he’s apparently in love with thin (his phone revealed more than Jack would when he figured out the passcode) or hell, giving up on him altogether.

Jack’s fingers splay on his skin, slides across it with an obvious need to do so, a yearning that is both overt and also careful, it feels new and familiar all at once and Brock doesn’t want him to stop like always.

He’s not sure when the last time was when he was touched like this when they both knew each other so well, Jack still won’t tell him but he wants to believe every time he did there was a hunger in it that stayed in between them to ache for the time when they could have more. He feels it like this, this yearning to be constantly stroked and caressed and yet he doesn’t do anything about it. Doesn’t quite trust himself to expand on this little thing they have without messing it all up.

They have time though, plenty of time as he sits in the darkness curled up next to Jack and allows this man to feel him like he would like, could even easily try for more and Brock wouldn’t stop him but doesn’t do it.

Any intelligent person would have gotten a clue, or maybe just tempted to push it a bit further, Jack doesn’t though. It’s like a curse and a blessing rolled into one but he doesn’t complain, instead he just leans his head in to drop it against awaiting shoulder.

He’s starting to see why he would be in love with him and how he’s starting to fall for him all over again.


	5. De-aged

“Hey Clint. Hey, come closer I wanna tells you something!” Clint winces a little when a tiny hand grabs his bruised up nose to get him to turn his way, arm almost losing grip on the pint sized Rumlow wiggling against his hip and then feeling speckles of spit hitting his ear when Brock blows at the spot like he’s testing a microphone.

“I can hear you fine, my hearing aids do that for me.”

“But it’s a secret!” Brock all but yells into his ear because he doesn’t know hearing aids and only remembers the deaf part.

At least he’s not naked, Clint thought. Eyeing the dark outfit with miniature sized straps across his chest and adorable little tac pants. The weapons were immediately pulled out of little fingers because God knows they didn’t need that. Even though they were told it was a temporary thing, he kind of wished Brock would still be a kid a tiny bit longer, he was pretty cute and knew Nat would have killed to see this in person.

“Okay okay tell me but keep it low so the secret doesn’t leak out.” He sets him down and crouches next to him, “What?” 

“I really like Jack!” He of course yells out before immediately pulling away from keeping Clint in his place and covering his mouth with a slap of his hand over it. 

He giggles and Clint’s brows disappear into his hairline at how flushed and goofy he looks about the reveal like he can’t control himself and just has to let it out before he bursts. This magic mumbo jumbo may have been a blessing in disguise because he’s pretty sure the guy would have taken said secret to his grave despite what everyone else knew.

Brock presses his chubby hands to his face and stares in awe at his friend, “I wanna marry him so bad!” 

Like always, apparently even when pint sized, the moment Jack hears his name he comes walking in with Bucky following him along and Steve trailing behind the pair of them skimming a tablet in hand. 

“Brock!” Jack waves with sticky fingers, a melting ice cream cone in his other hand and hair an adorable moppy mess instead of slicked back like he usually had it, “Look, Bucky got us ice cream!” 

He’s walking too fast, long body too awkward in keeping up with him now that he was young again and he almost trips over the area rug in the living room, Bucky’s quick reflexes catching him before he takes a faceplant.

“Easy there, kiddo.”

Jack turns his head up and gives him a smile over his shoulder, reaching his hand out for the other ice cream. Bucky gives him a pointed look to make sure he won’t set off speed walking again and when he’s satisfied he offers him Brock’s cone. Jack’s expression goes serious and he walks carefully as if handling something fragile and precious before holding it out for him, “You like chocolate right?” 

Brock detaches from Clint and beams so bright the guys stealthily take out their phones to record him, taking the precious cargo of ice cream with a boyish nod of abrupt shyness and Steve elbows Bucky with an amused grin.

“Thank you.” 

Brock’s manners are dipped in so much honey Clint’s sure he’s going to get diabetes from it. He tucks himself around to his two friends and keeps his voice low, “How’d he grow up from adorable to permanent stick lodged up his as-" He catches himself, eyeing the boys, "..Asbestos?”

Bucky snorts, hovering a hand over his mouth trying not to coo over Brock’s obvious crush and Jack staring at him like he’s the best thing since sliced bread. 

When their ice creams are finished and the two are cleaned up, the guys discuss where to house them, Jack twists in his seat and crushes a bemused Brock in a giant hug, “Brock is staying with me, I’m his husband!” 

Steve chokes on his coffee, coughing it up all over his shirt.

Brock grins and nods in agreement, clinging to him just as tightly, “I’m not leaving Jack!” 

Clint lifts his hands up off his lap in protest, “I’m not dealing with this at night. I have a feeling they won’t want to pee or shower without each other very soon, I need my beauty rest.” 

Bucky shrugs, eyeing the two boys, “Me and Steve’ll take ‘em, on the plus side they’re gonna remember all this when they’re adults again. They can come to terms with that all by themselves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will attempt doing three tropes I would not usually write next. Waste more time. :3


End file.
